


Hel-blár and Nár-fölr

by themantlingdark



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 19:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: I can't disable commenting. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have.





	Hel-blár and Nár-fölr

In the end, they fought side by side, as one being - a scorpion – Thor its massive arms and Loki its swift-stinging tail. Jane was reminded of the twin brothers who always dominated doubles tennis.

And when Loki had unraveled Malekith's magic and mocked him to madness, the elf looked between his three foes and did a simple calculation.

He reasoned that, to cause the most pain, he should kill Thor, for Jane and Loki would both be devastated. However skilled at deception Loki was, his feelings for his brother moved him to such passion and violence that they couldn't be ignored or dismissed as mere hatred.

Malekith moved his lips and murmured a spell. And Thor knew this one. A desperate and crude piece of seidr. It kills the one named in its invocation, but at a high cost: the speaker dies, too. When Malekith opened his mouth to speak the victim's name, Loki roared so monstrously it stuttered heartbeats and set hairs on end.

“My life for his,” Loki said.

“Odinson,” Malekith finished happily, and grinned at Loki before he reached to touch Thor's skin and complete the spell.

But his arm stopped with a flick of Loki's fingers. Everything stopped. Only Loki was left unaffected. Thor's eyes watched from the fixed prisons of their sockets as his brother laughed and stepped toward Malekith.

Loki picked Thor up and set him to the side and it occurred to him that he could lift Mjolnir after all: all he needed to do was heave up his brother. If Odin were still alive, Loki would have gloated.

Jane, Thor, and Malekith looked on in mute motionless horror as Loki composed the future.

He raised Thor's right arm up over the shoulder, hammer held in his fingers, in perfect alignment with Malekith's skull.

He positioned Jane opposite Thor, because he wanted her to see Thor's face as the hammer fell and Malekith shattered. Wanted her to catch a glimpse of the Thor he knew better than he knew himself. To understand that she could never understand. That she would always be a millennium behind. That Thor would not regret taking this life. That he'd follow the path Loki had set out for him without a second thought.

She'd also be splattered with a spectacular amount of blood, which Loki found viscerally satisfying.

Loki took the shawl Frigga gave to Jane. It was a petty gesture, perhaps, but he found he didn't care. He wrapped it around his neck like a scarf.

He still blamed Jane for half of this.

He blamed Thor for the other half.

This would spare Loki pain while wounding Thor and Jane.

Thor would know Loki loved him.

Loki would leave him anyway.

Jane would never be able to top saving all the realms and taking a killing curse for Thor.

It was rather perfect.

And he'd finally be unfettered. No more rotting in the bowels of Asgard. No further expectations. Thor would be unable to follow without Odin's aid. He'd break his brother's heart again and they'd be free of the love that had bound them like a noose all the long years of their lives. He'd spirit himself away with his seidr and lick his wounds for a while. Remake himself in any image he liked.

Loki stepped into Thor's former position and reached out, his fingertips a hair's breadth from the elf's.

Loki had to admit that his foe was worthy – beautiful, too - he was almost disappointed at winning. It would be a bit of a shame when Thor destroyed Malekith and ruined his unflinching coldness, strength, and purpose. But Loki wasn't bothered enough to change his mind. Thor was far lovelier, and his beauty would still exist.

Malekith's eyes were smiling again.

Loki laughed.

He leaned close to whisper into the elf's pretty ear.

“I am no Odinson, you fool. And Thor will deliver your precious darkness.” 

Thor looked on as Loki recalled his spell of stillness and grabbed the elf's fingers.

And then Loki's pieces fell into place.

Thor screamed and his hammer shattered Malekith's skull, sending shards of bone, blobs of grey, and drops of blood bursting up through strands of white.

Jane gaped and paled, her pallor made more remarkable by the bright crimson freckles speckling her face.

Loki's world went black and he crumpled.

His plans had always shown a tendency to stray from the prescribed path. They were much like their maker in that way.

Thor lifted Mjolnir again and slammed her head into the elf's chest for good measure, caving in his ribs and crushing his heart.

And then he went to his knees and bent over his brother.

Loki's skin had gone blue. His eyes were red and open, unseeing. Thor barked a spell, melting Loki's armor away, and pressed his ear to Loki's breast, but he couldn't hear anything over the panicked roar of blood through his own veins.

“Loki?” Thor said, over and over, shaking his brother and pinching him through the soft felts and leathers he had on under his breastplate.

“Loki, wake up.”

Jane was silently crying.

They were high in a snowy mountain range and Thor could see his own breath in front of his face, but no steam passed Loki's lips.

But why would it? Thor reasoned. He's in his Jotun skin. He's colder than snow.

Thor dropped his head down level with Loki's chest and waited to watch for the motions of breath.

When none were forthcoming, Thor's eyes went blind with tears.

But No, Thor told himself. That is no gauge. Loki lived among the stars when he fell from the Bifrost. There was no air for him to breathe then. He's a god. He can go without.

He pulled Frigga's shawl aside and pressed his fingers up into Loki's neck just under the jaw to feel for a pulse, but Loki's skin was so firm and cold and Thor's hand was shaking so badly that the task was a hopeless one.

Thor gently closed Loki's eyelids to keep from damaging the lenses and then tore his cape off to wrap his brother in it.

“I don't want to take you in turns,” Thor said, addressing Jane. “I need you to hang onto me. And don't touch his skin – it will burn you.”

“Thor-”

“Come. The Bifrost site is leagues away and you're shivering.”

Thor hauled Loki up and held him tight against his chest with his arm around Loki's waist.

Loki's head fell back and his mouth gaped.

Jane approached with dread, standing up on her toes behind Thor and looping her arms around his neck.

Thor swung his hammer and they lurched into the air. He bent his knees at a right angle, making a shelf of his calves for Jane to kneel on as they hurtled over Svartalfheim.

He called for Heimdall the moment their feet touched the ground.

When they arrived in the swirling gold dome of the Bifrost, Thor crouched to let Jane down and then spun toward her. She could see Loki's limp body sway and sag with the motion. His head hung back toward her again and his lower teeth were visible where his mouth was still open. His eyelids were slitted but unblinking.

“I am sorry to have troubled you with all that you have seen,” Thor murmured. “And I apologize that I cannot escort you home properly. I do not wish to leave his side when he is so helpless, and he would not appreciate my dragging him through Midgard.”

“Thor-”

“Heimdall will see you home safely,” Thor said, voice breathy and half-gone. “Be well, lady.”

And, with that, Thor bowed, his brother dangling grotesquely in front of him, and turned on his heel, leaving Jane under the glowing eyes of Asgard's grim guardian.

Heimdall gave her the barest hint of a smile and offered his arm.

“Ready, my lady?” he asked, and she could only nod.

Thor was grateful that it was night and they'd have privacy. Few had seen Loki in this skin, and Heimdall was the only one of that number who still lived. Thor suspected his brother intended to keep this part of himself a secret. He flew straight to their tower, alighting on their shared balcony and passing into Loki's room. He laid Loki down on his bed and unwound his cape from his brother's motionless form. Then he tugged off Loki's boots, stockings, felts, and leathers and pressed his ear to Loki's chest.

Still he could hear only the buzz of his own blood.

Perhaps it has slowed in the absence of his breathing. Perhaps the Jotnar hibernate.

He reminded himself of the conclusions he had come to on Svartalfheim to keep his eyes clear of tears as he went through Loki's wardrobe looking for pajamas. He found nothing suitable – Loki never wore sleep clothes, and neither did Thor, but Thor did at least own a set to wear on cooler realms. Giving up, he draped his cape over his brother once more.

I should be wearing black, anyway, Thor chided himself.

He hadn't wanted to wear Malekith's color to Malekith's battle on Malekith's realm. He needed something of home and of happier times. So he wore red, as he always had. But the realms were at peace once more, so he could mourn properly.

“I'll find you something black to wear, too,” Thor said to Loki. “I know you loved her.”

He wondered if he should fetch a healer, but they were still overwhelmed with those wounded in the war. Thor wasn't sure how much use they'd be to his brother while he was in Jotun form, anyway.

And a tiny child's voice in a dark corner of his mind begged him not to seek a mage or a nurse, because if Loki were declared dead by someone in the business of making such pronouncements, Thor's world would never recover.

It wasn't an option.

He's a god, Thor kept chanting. He's just sleeping. He's clever. He knows what he's doing.

Loki's eyes were starting to peel open again and Thor wished he had some means of stopping them. His first thought was of coins and he laughed at himself. It would probably be in bad taste, which meant his brother would approve. Thor cut through their shared bath to get to his own room and came back with two gold pieces, setting them on Loki's lids with a small smirk and then a huff.

“Wake up soon, or I shall stick them shut with dung.”

And he kissed Loki's cold forehead, locked his door from the inside, and went back through the bath to his own room.

Thor was in no mood for it, but he knew he had to rise early and resume his duties. He stripped, took a hasty bath - though he longed for a lengthy soak - and went straight to bed.

In the morning he dressed in black, left his hair uncombed and his beard untrimmed, peeked in on his brother, found him still sleeping, locked the hall behind him, and went down to resume the throne.

Sif had held his place for him. Loki had said there was no sense in anyone else going to Svartalfheim and Thor had agreed, not wanting to endanger any more people and risk losing his rapidly-dwindling loved ones.

In the throne room Sif greeted Thor with a firm hug. Relief coursed through her and loosened muscles that had been tense for weeks. Her eyebrows raised in a question.

“All is well,” Thor said. “How fares the realm?”

“We've been making ready for war,” Sif sighed. “In case you were unsuccessful and Malekith came for us again. Are we safe now to make repairs and see to rites?”

“Aye.”

“Are you well?” Sif asked, and her brow crumpled slightly as she squinted at her friend.

“As well as I have any business being,” Thor answered.

“You look different.”

“I'm in mourning,” Thor said gently, but Sif still studied him intently before shaking it off and taking her king on a tour of the damages wrought to the city.

Thor and his friends ran themselves into the ground with exertion day after day, clearing rubble and sorting through it, looking hopelessly for survivors and finding only more victims.

Thor would still catch Sif giving him strange looks when she thought he couldn't see her.

After a week she pulled Thor aside as they were walking back from a bridge they'd been repairing.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Sleeping.”

“What happened?”

“He saved my life,” Thor sighed. “I wish I had his gift with seidr. Or my father's. That I might be able to help him now.”

“With what?”

“Waking.”

“He's slept all this time?”

“Aye.”

Sif frowned at this but bowed her goodnight, then watched as Thor spun his hammer and flew up to his tower.

Thor's dreams had been strange since the war: free from all imagery. They were darkness and silence filled with some strange sense of guilt and nervousness, as though he'd made some mistake and was being punished for his peccadillo.

In the morning he would comb through memories, hoping to alight on an answer - to find whatever offense it was for which he needed to ask forgiveness. But nothing came to his mind.

Malekith's death was already a month gone when Thor woke from yet another night of his empty dreams. He wondered if these nightmares were taking their toll on his face. He never felt rested in the morning. Indeed, he felt best at the end of the day, when he was farthest from the ineffable failures of his sleeping self.

His mirrors were still draped in black cloth and his hair was still uncombed, beard growing wilder every day. He supposed any changes in his countenance would be overpowered by how unkempt the rest of him was.

He dressed in black again and then went to check on his brother.

It always filled him with fear to find Loki exactly where he had left him the night before. Thor would hold his breath as he entered the room, afraid his nose would warn him of the first signs of decay. He wouldn't inhale until he had pressed his palm to Loki's forehead and felt the chill of frost.

He reached for the high planes of his brother's brow and cautiously lowered his hand.

Still cold. He'd have warmed by now if he were dead, surely, Thor thought, soothing himself.

He turned Loki onto his side to check his long limbs for bedsores, and, as ever, found nothing. He chose to take this as a good sign – that Loki's body was healthy and resilient – he was just a bit sleepy. Afterward, he returned him to his back, made sure his eyes were closed, and then rearranged the thin sheet of black linen he had gotten for his brother - so that Loki could grieve in his sleep.

And, finally, he said his farewell with a fond squeeze to Loki's right knee and went on his way.

Thor felt strange as he walked through Asgard's halls, but there was something familiar about the sensation.

Gossamer, he realized.

It felt like strands of spider silk were catching on his skin. He reached to brush them off, but the whole palace seemed to be full of them so he soon gave up. He couldn't catch them glinting in the light, but the light in the castle was often so indirect that it didn't surprise him. He briefly considered alerting the maids, but it seemed too trifling a thing to mention in the shadow of such a vicious war, so he let it go.

He had some tedious paperwork to attend to in his library – missives to reassure Asgard's allies that his realm would come to their aid and that the Aesir were still strong. The chore was made more irritating by the cobwebs that still seemed to be wound around him, tickling his cheeks.

In the afternoon, he joined Sif and Volstagg in raising a barn with some farmers.

The fresh air, effort, and company cheered him.

Asgard was as healthy as Thor could hope, given the circumstances.

After the rubble had been combed and all those missing were accounted for, the realm spent an entire week building pyres and burning its dead. Where smaller possessions had been destroyed, whole walls of ruined homes were burned instead, and the dead took their dwellings with them.

The most urgent repairs were made first – to homes, healer's, wells, and plumbing. The roads and rivers were cleared. Finally, barns, outbuildings, and fences were able to receive attention.

In the evening, when the work was done, Thor walked back to the palace rather than flying, being in no hurry to return to his dreams.

Sif quickened her pace to catch up with him.

“How long will you mourn?” She asked softly.

“Perhaps I'll stop when Loki stops,” Thor answered.

“He's awake?”

“No. I dressed him in black.”

Sif frowned.

“Our father used to sleep for months - even years,” Thor reminded her.

She nodded and they kept walking.

“How did he save your life?” Sif asked.

“Malekith spoke a curse, but Loki took my place before it could be set to my skin.”

“What curse?”

“Drepa.”

Sif stopped walking and covered her mouth with her hand.

“What's wrong?” Thor asked, and turned back to face her.

“Did Malekith fall?”

“Aye. Under Mjolnir.”

“How do you know it was not with the spell.”

Thor frowned at this. He had no way of proving it either way.

“Loki was not the one named in the curse.”

This was what Thor had been telling himself every morning since Loki fell, to give himself the strength to get out of bed and check on his brother.

When Thor brought Loki back from Midgard after the war with the Chitauri, their father had called them directly to the throne to address Loki and set out his punishment.

“I take from you your name and your liberty. You shall not have them until you are yourself again,” the king had declared.

Both Thor and Loki had wrinkled their brows at this at the time. It was so vague.

But now it was like a gift, for Malekith said “Odinson,” and Loki was, at most, only Loki when the killing curse was spoken. Odin gave him no new name, and Loki never offered an alternative. Thor knew the spell couldn't have worked. Loki grabbed the elf's hand willingly. This was all Loki's design.

Thor didn't understand why it was taking so long for his brother to wake up, but he knew it would happen.

And then Thor wondered if Odin took Loki's name away to save them from Malekith.

Perhaps this is Father's design, Thor realized, and it startled him slightly, but ultimately he found it quite comforting.

Sound crept into Thor's dreams at last.

Loki' s voice.

Angry.

But welcome all the same.

He hissed and screamed inside Thor's head.

I'm a prisoner still. What have you done? Or did Odin do it? Did he teach you how to undo it? I meant only to escape. Wake me, damn you. I've served your father's purpose and saved your life, now set me free.

Thor woke and bolted into his brother's room, leaping onto the bed, jostling the slender sleeping form, and reaching for his blue brow. But the skin was still cold beneath his hand and his brother hadn't moved. Thor shook Loki's shoulders lightly and called his name, but got no response, so he followed his usual routine of checking for bedsores and tucking his brother back under the black sheet.

On the way to his own room Thor's skin was tingling again. He went to brush the cobwebs from his throat but the flesh stung slightly when his fingers grazed it.

He pulled the mourning drape off of a mirror and leaned in to examine the spot.

There were tiny scratches on the base of his throat and all along his shoulders, as though fingernails had dragged over it.

I must have done it in my sleep, Thor supposed.

Thor wore a high-necked black tunic that day to cover the scratches, but Sif looked at him strangely anyway.

“What's wrong?” Thor asked, winking. “Is my appearance that offensive?”

“I'm sorry,” she sighed. “You look tired.”

“I am tired,” he said, “I think we all are.”

Sif nodded.

“We've missed you at meals. What have you been eating?” she asked.

“I haven't. I rarely need to, when it comes to it, so it seems a waste.”

Her lips tightened at his answer.

“You're thinner.”

“So is Volstagg,” Thor noted, and smiled.

They bowed their goodnights and Sif's eyes followed Thor down the hall. When he made a turn and passed a torch, her skin went cold.

Thor had two shadows.

Thor endured dreams of his brother's screaming for weeks and woke every morning with more scratches to his skin. But he preferred this to the sensations of sorrow and guilt that had plagued his mind the months before. And he could hear Loki's voice, which was a comfort to him no matter how harsh his words might have been. He would gladly take Loki's shouts over Loki's silence.

Loki's complaints remained the same. Namely, that it was Thor's fault he was asleep because Thor was now king, that he had fully intended to make his escape and claim the liberty he was owed, and that saving Thor's life was the price of Loki's freedom.

But even Loki seemed to tire of it after a time.

Each morning Thor would attempt to wake his brother with as much force as he was willing to risk on Loki's defenseless form. He would pinch and shake him. Shout and whistle at him. Tickle and slap him. Splash his face with water. But nothing happened.

A particularly lovely summer sunset mired Thor in unexpected melancholy as it sent beautiful light in through his window.

When they were young, Thor brought his brother into his bedroom on nights like this to enjoy the light as it shifted from peach to coral to red, and finally to violet, tinting their skin and warming their cheeks, painting their irises impossible colors and making them glow as though the boys were lit from within. Loki would return the favor when he saw the makings of a remarkable sunrise.

Thor went to Loki's room and begged him to wake up. By the end of it he was sobbing and rocking Loki's limp body in his arms, chantingWhere are you? Come home, while a storm howled and boomed outside and lighting ripped over the realm.

When Thor slept that night, he heard his brother's voice again.

In my room, over my desk, on the third shelf from the bottom, in the eighteenth jar from the left, there are very potent smelling salts. Try them on me.

When Thor woke, he went to Loki's room and followed Loki instructions. He sniffed the contents of the jar himself and found his dream had spoken truth. The jars weren't labeled. And he had never been told their contents before.

He lifted Loki's head and held the stuff under his nose.

No effect.

But hardly a disappointment.

His brother had spoken to him – not his own mind dreaming with his brother's voice, but his brother's thoughts inside his head.

It must be his seidr, Thor thought. It's been severed from his flesh somehow.

Thor began to talk to his brother while he was in Loki's room, sitting beside him on the bed. He asked him about magic.

And, in his dreams, he got his brother's answers.

Books to read. Spells to try. Scrolls to seek.

Thor finally saw the shadow that glided at his heels out of the corner of his eye - its movements not quite synchronized with his own, its silhouette slimmer. The shade grew darker each day, as though increasing in solidity and substance.

The guards shared worried looks as their king walked through the halls with a faint smile on his lips and a darkness at his back. Odin's seidr was never this strange, but then Thor always was a bit wild. They told themselves to get used to it. The realm was recovering nicely, so Thor must have been doing something right.

Sometimes the figure seemed to dance at Thor's heels, mocking the senses of all who saw it, and Thor would laugh softly and say, “Stop teasing them,” and then the shape would run down the hall, dragging its fingers through all the torches and setting all the shadows dancing on the walls. The king would laugh and the soldiers would shudder.

On a quiet evening, Thor was reading in Loki's room when the candle guttered.

Thor looked up. He felt no breeze, so he searched for his second shadow, but saw nothing.

It happened again and he squinted at the flame where it teetered on the tip of the wick.

It was like staring at the bark of a tree and having it resolve into the camouflaged wings of a moth. Before him, so faint you could see the books behind him, but unmistakable, was his brother. Or, rather, one of his seidr-made illusions. Loki flicked the flame again in greeting and Thor grinned.

Rumors began to grow of a ghost being seen by those who woke before the sunrise to milk cows and bake bread. They said it haunted the gardens at the base of the king's tower.

Youths snuck out at night to see it for themselves and the spirit often rewarded their efforts, sneaking up behind them, passing through their forms and leaving their skin cold in its wake. They'd hear laughter from above and Thor would nod and wave at them, sending them squealing and sprinting back home to breathlessly confess their exploits to their parents.

“The king is having a bit of fun with you,” their mothers would say. “Practicing his magic. You're lucky he didn't call the guards or turn you to stone.”

And the children's eyes went wide and it was weeks before they worked up the nerve to return.

Imagery finally made its way back into Thor's dreams.

And there was Loki, opaque and lovely, tired and sad, sitting on the side of Thor's bed, leaning over on a long arm to look upon Thor's sleeping form.

Thor always dreamt of reality, in a way - in that he was lying in his exact physical position in his dreams, and the room was either dark or lit only by a candle, just as it was when he fell asleep.

The brothers talked all night about Loki's strangely fractured existence, trading theories and observations.

“How is it that you seem to grow stronger each day?” Thor asked.

“I can't be certain, but I think my seidr is trickling back to me from where it shattered on Svartalfheim,” Loki answered, and folded his legs up in front of him so that one bony knee pressed pleasantly into Thor's hip.

“What do you remember from that day?” Thor said.

“I had a spell ready to hide me from sight. I was going to speak it once I touched his fingers. But everything went black,” Loki answered, shaking his head, long hair swaying beside his cheeks. “When I woke, it was as a shade in a world of shadow. But I could hear Mjolnir singing, so I followed her voice.”

“Has anyone ever failed at casting the Drepa curse before?” Thor asked.

“If they have, they left no record of it. Not the sort of thing one would want to admit to, really. And perhaps, like Malekith, prior failures died with their words.”

Loki saw his brother frowning and chewing on the inside of his cheek, his jaw canted off to the left.

“What's wrong?” Loki asked.

“Is it possible that your troubles stem from Father's seidr rather than Malekith's?”

“I'm beginning to suspect it's not just possible, but probable,” Loki sighed.

“But how are you meant to be yourself again if you're in pieces?” Thor asked.

Loki only shook his head and changed the subject.

“You should eat something. The harvest was good. You're too thin. One of Idunn's apples at the very least. Preferably more. Promise me.”

Thor nodded.

In the morning he dressed in black and tended to Loki's body.

Then he left to steal apples from Idunn's orchards.

When he was younger, it had always been an ordeal, as he had no alternative but to go on foot, and Idunn would track him down and clobber him without fail. But with Mjolnir, he could whiz over the tops of the trees, plucking the fruit as he flew, seeing the goddess on the ground below, shaking her fists and throwing stones.

Today was no different. Her aim was true. A rock the size of a fist connected with the back of Thor's head and left a glorious goose egg as a parting gift.

He dined with Sif that evening.

“Feeling better?” Sif asked.

“Aye.”

“You look it. Is he awake?”

“Not precisely,” Thor said, and Sif's brow twisted, but she said nothing.

That night in their shared dream, Thor informed Loki that he was to blame for the injury on the back of his skull. Loki agreed and reached to heal it.

“Your hair is appalling,” Loki said, grimacing.

“I'm in mourning, you ass, I've not combed it.”

“Enough of your unsightly grief,” Loki grumbled, and fetched a comb from a dresser.

It took half the night to get the knots out of Thor's hair. When Loki had finished, Thor saw green seidr glowing at his brother's fingertips.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm going to fix your bloody beard. Hold still.”

When Thor woke in the morning his hair was in glossy waves and his beard was short and neat.

“Thank you,” he said, and in the mirror he saw the diaphanous shape of his brother nodding its head behind him.

Thor still wore black every day. It made him look hard in a way that he needed, because he'd never felt softer in his life.

In a matter of months he had lost his mother, father, and brother, and had had to willingly part with his friends from Midgard lest he endanger them further.

He had never been more alone.

He didn't know what he would have done without the bridge his dreams built between his mind and his brother's. He suspected his heartbreak would have gotten the best of him.

“You combed your hair,” Sif noted when Thor met her in the sparring arena.

“Loki did it.”

“He's awake?”

“No.”

“Thor, what does that mean?”

“His seidr is awake.”

Sif's face fell at this.

She hadn't missed the rumors of the ghost by the tower. She saw the specter gliding silently at her king's side. Thor had always been an optimist. Lately life had taught Sif better.

The friends sparred together as they had when they were youths and it drove the worries from her mind. Thor ate a hearty meal with her and they made plans to repeat the pattern the next day. She saw no sign of Thor's second shadow after supper and it sent relief running through her.

When Thor got back to his room he found his brother's image stretched out on his bed.

Does seidr sleep? Thor wondered, and left to soak in the tub.

In their shared dream that night, Loki asked Thor to address his body by every appellation that had ever been used in connection with him. Thor frowned, for there were many, and only a handful of them were anything like nice.

In the morning, Thor granted Loki's wish, but Loki's form remained motionless.

Thor had a second pleasant day with Sif, feeling more himself, sparring with enthusiasm, having another hearty dinner.

Loki smiled fondly at him in their dream that night.

“You look well.”

“You look tired,” Thor answered.

“I am,” Loki sighed.

“Have you slept?”

“Some... I think.”

“Have you eaten?” Thor tried.

“I can't.”

“Is there a way to eat seidr?” Thor asked, and Loki laughed, then furrowed his brow.

“Call Mjolnir,” Loki said, and Thor did.

Loki took his brother's hand.

“Can you take her strength into your own form?” Loki asked.

“Aye, but I can't hold onto it for long.”

“If this doesn't work you'll have to call a storm.”

Thor nodded and summoned the hammer's seidr, storing it under his skin until his eyes glowed with it.

Then Loki called to it, siphoning the power through Thor's fingertips and into his own until everything faded to darkness for both of them.

When Thor opened his eyes, the fingers of his right hand were cramped from where they'd held Mjolnir all night. The fingertips of his left hand were stained blue, but otherwise uninjured.

He turned his head to look for his brother and shouted.

Loki was fully opaque beside him, unconscious on his back, fingertips indigo like Thor's.

Thor set his hammer down and rolled to reach for Loki, but he fell flat on his face on the feather bed, sailing through the specter.

When he went next door and checked on his brother's body, it was as still and cold as ever.

Thor left the seidr-Loki sleeping and departed to spar with Sif.

She didn't miss the blue stains on his fingers, nor the stiffness in his right hand.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Loki and I were messing about with Mjolnir all night.”

“I don't understand.”

“Neither do I,” Thor sighed.

Sif was wary the rest of the morning and Thor was useless at sparring, so they grabbed food from the kitchens and ate a sullen lunch before going their separate ways. Thor had papers to read over and scrolls to seek for his brother all afternoon.

Loki still couldn't touch anything directly outside of Thor's dreams, but he could cast spells and use seidr to influence things, as he had with the conjured cobwebs that pestered his brother. Expending his magic like that exhausted him, however, and then he had to borrow more strength from Mjolnir to restore himself, so the brothers soon realized it was better for all parties if Thor did as much of the grunt work as possible. He opened tomes and spoke the spells Loki pointed to. Mixed potions according to the instructions found in scrolls. Drew charms and tracked down strange objects. But to no avail: Loki's mind and magic were still at odds with his body.

Loki sat at the foot of the bed and watched as Thor gently tipped his lifeless blue body onto its side and ran cautious fingers over the skin, shifting and searching it for any sign of irritation and breathing a sigh of relief when he found none. Thor ran his hands over the bony shins affectionately and tucked Loki back in for the day.

“Do I not disgust you?” Loki asked.

He was strong enough to speak beyond Thor's dreams, now, with a bit of effort, but his voice was somehow muffled, and seemed not to originate from any one source but rather to fill all the room at once.

“You will never disgust me,” Thor said, and lied down beside his sleeping sibling, staring at the lovely features that sat before his own face. “I do hope you wake soon, though,” Thor continued. “Your backside will be irreparably flattened if this goes on much longer. Perhaps I should curl you on your sides from now on, alternating each day.”

Loki batted a hand at Thor, which was his go-to gesture for silently communicating that Thor should stop speaking and find something useful to do, but his face was far more fond than irritated, so Thor ignored him.

Thor merely draped an arm over Loki's cold chest, pressed his lips to a firm shoulder, and closed his eyes.

They were both growing more weary with each passing day. The solution to their problem seemed to remain fixed beyond the horizon, and they knew not even in which direction they should seek it. The excitement of their initial connection through Thor's dreams had spurred them on and borne them up for months, but the novelty had faded, and now it seemed like a dead end, though a rather lovely one, Loki had to admit.

Loki stepped into Thor's sleeping mind and reveled in the warmth of his brother's strange soul. It was a bit like that moment one sometimes stumbles upon when your dreams haven't ended, but your eyes have opened, and you see your imaginings overlaid on your bedsheets. Loki could see his brother's sleeping body and his unconscious projection of himself simultaneously.

Right now the two Thors were very nearly identical, but that was not always the case. In some dreams, Thor was barely a young man, his hair wispy and short, falling over his eyes, cheeks bare and limbs slender. Other days Thor looked as tired as he felt, eyes shadowed and sunken, mouth grim and hair matted. Still other days he ran through the whole spectrum between the two extremes within the span of one dream.

“Was there ever a pair half as strange as we two?” Loki murmured.

“No. Nor half as perfect,” Thor said, smiling sadly, and Loki saw the real Thor kiss the real Loki's shoulder in his sleep.

Norns, Loki marveled. His heart is woven into every inch of his being.

“Wherefore your sorrow?” Loki whispered.

“I've lost you again.”

“I've lost myself.”

“Lost, or hidden?” Thor asked, and the dream-brother grew younger before Loki's eyes.

“Buried,” Loki said.

“Where?”

“The past.”

“Why?”

“For you.”

And Thor was just edging into adolescence now. His skin tight and dewy, hair silken and fair. Spirit as fragile as Loki's had been - and had, perhaps, remained.

They were never closer than in those in-between years. More Frigga's boys than Odin's men. Still shy and cautious, uncertain of who they would become, and where it would take them. The tenderness of boyhood had not yet been beaten out of them. Prey animals, not predators. Soft kisses goodnight and fond words whispered without a second's hesitation or any concept of rejection were the rule rather than the exception.

When Loki looked up again, he found Thor had a shovel.

“Where do we dig?”

“We can't. It will wound you.”

“I'm already bleeding,” Thor shrugged, a man again, Loki's tiny knife in his side and tears in his eyes.

“The first time you lost me,” Loki whispered, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, they were in the Bifrost.

“And the first time I lost you,” Loki admits, remembering how Thor's armor was stripped and he was thrown away like trash by their father.

“We buried it in stages all our lives,” Thor said, and Loki nodded.

“Yes, but this was when I realized it was lost. A thousand years, forgotten with one look into her pretty brown eyes. And you took the news that you could never come home with remarkable ease.”

“I never forgot. And that was not ease, it was emptiness. And afterward, you killed me with less care than you would have shown an animal. Or an enemy.”

“And that's why this is buried,” Loki murmured, remembering. “My jealousy. My anger. Fate has already dealt me far better than I deserve. You live. Let us keep it that way. You should leave me like this. It's safer.”

“No,” Thor said. “Secrecy wrought all our woes. And, anyway, it's too late now - we've found it.”

And Thor kissed him, dropping the shovel and wrapping Loki up in warm arms.

When Thor woke, his lips were blue and Loki's shoulder was pale. He could hear his brother's heart beating in the body beside him. The breast rose and fell. Thor hugged Loki tight and whispered his brother's name, shaking him lightly, but he didn't stir.

“No,” Thor breathed, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Loki's seidr-form, translucent once more, perched at the foot of the bed.

“What's happening?” Thor asked, but Loki's voice was gone again.

Loki shook his head and opened his hands.

He didn't know either.

It stormed all day.

Fishermen wouldn't risk their ships and stayed in taverns, waiting out the weather and the king's temper.

Sif came to see Thor and found him reading in a library off the throne room.

She saw his blue lips and swore.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Still sleeping.”

“I need to see him.”

“So do I,” Thor murmured.

“Now, Thor.”

“Do you know how to wake him?”

“I might know what he needs.”

They strode to the tower and all but ran up the stairs. Thor could feel his heart beating madly in his chest.

He led her through his room and around into Loki's.

Loki's intangible form jumped up from the bed and screamed silently at Sif.

Her eyes went wide as she stared at the figure on the bed.

“Oh, Thor, how could you?” Sif whispered.

“How could I what?” Thor gasped.

“You didn't burn him or bury him when he fell. You took the wildest soul you knew and bound him here.”

“He is not dead!”

“No, he's much worse than that now.”

“What are you saying?” Thor breathed.

“Did he do that to your lips?”

Thor made no answer, but his mouth drew into a tight line and Sif knew him well enough to know that meant Yes.

“Take off your tunic,” she said.

Thor clenched his jaw but yanked his top up over his head.

There were more of the blue marks all over Thor's skin.

“How did those happen?” Sif asked. “Did he put them there?”

“Yes,” Thor hissed.

“Does he visit you in your dreams?

“Aye.”

“Leave evidence of his visits?”

Thor glared.

“Walk through walls? Have unfinished business? Have enemies? Injuries? Magic? Has he put his mouth on you? Is he hel-blár and nár-fölr?” she finished, extending her left hand to Loki's blue body and her right to his grey soul.

“He's Loki,” Thor said, face crimson with anger.

“He was Loki. He's a draugr now, Thor.”

And with that, she drew her sword and raised it, striding forward to finish the mess Thor had started.

But Thor and Loki both saw what she was going to do, and they were far more determined than Sif, who, in spite of everything, was not eager to put an end to Loki and thereby break her best friend's heart.

Thor threw his body over Loki's sleeping form, and Loki threw his soul over Thor's defenseless body.

Sif's sword shivered against a shield of ice and she stood back gaping, having nearly cut off her king's head.

“All right?” Loki asked.

“Aye,” Thor said, and Thor was beaming at him as they climbed to their feet.

“Hel-blár?” Loki drawled, turning to Sif. “I'm Jotun, you idiot.”

“What? No.” Sif whispered.

“Oh, aye, lady. Laufey's son, no less,” Loki sneered.

“You're lying. Thor, we have to cut his head off and burn him before he bewitches us.”

Loki laughed so hard he staggered and his skin flickered blue a few times as he shifted Aesir.

“It's true, Sif,” Thor soothed.

“He has poisoned your mind,” Sif said.

“I should have you whipped for doubting him,” Loki sighed.

“What brought you back? Do you know?” Thor asked, settling into familiar indifference with regard to the spat between his brother and his best friend, for it had been simmering for centuries and he never really harbored any hope of its entirely ending.

“Bloody sacrifice, I imagine. You know how he was. Always held it in high esteem. Norns forbid the answer should ever be cleverness or love alone. By all the realms, I miss our Mother.”

“Aye,” Thor agreed.

“No,” Sif said again.

“If I hear one more word from you I will demonstrate my birthright rather than allowing Heimdall to describe it to you. Go to him. He has all the answers you seek. Honestly. It's beyond me why you people don't make better use of his gift.”

Thor shrugged, nodded, and raised his eyebrows, for Loki's assessment was quite fair. Thor suspected the problem stemmed largely from everyone being too lazy to go all the way out to the Bifrost to ask him... and the fact that Heimdall was rather intimidating.

Satisfied with Heimdall's answers, Sif joined the brothers for a late supper.

Loki was ravenous. Had his appetite been less, the dinner would have been more awkward, as his tongue would have been free to pick a quarrel with Sif.

As it was, he ate so much and so fast that it left him panting.

“You're going to make yourself sick,” Thor finally said, eyes gone wide.

Loki heaved a contented sigh and pushed himself away from the table.

“You're probably right.”

“What do you wish to do?” Thor asked.

“Sleep on my stomach for six months,” Loki groaned, rising and rubbing his behind.

“I knew I should have put you on your sides,” Thor grumbled.

Thor and Sif bade each other goodnight while Loki ambled off ahead of them, kneading his backside all the while.

Thor had a vague desire to strangle the over-rested god for being such a shameless tease.

In their tower, they sank into their bath with happy sighs and let the heat melt months of tension and neglect from their muscles.

“Do you still wish to escape Asgard?” Thor asked.

“I do wish to... travel... yes.”

“Will you come home?”

“Aye.”

“Will you make trouble?” Thor tried.

“I expect so.”

And Thor nodded, pleased to have his brother back.

“How do you feel?” Thor asked, as they patted themselves dry.

“Exhausted. I think I'll sleep for a while.”

Thor nodded again.

A few seconds later Loki was doubled over laughing, struggling to rein it in so he could speak.

“I jest,” Loki gasped. “If there is such a thing as being too kind, you've done it, brother. Bravo. I'll not sleep any time soon.”

And then Loki went left into Thor's room rather than right into his own.

Thor had expected a battle from his brother, however slight and insincere, before he would consent to being taken to bed, which confirmed his suspicion: Loki was exhausted. His body had been at rest, but that meant it would now tire easily until he had worked up to his old strength and stamina again, muscles having atrophied slightly from long disuse. And his mind had hardly rested in years.

Loki would sleep for days, waking only to eat and make unreasonable demands of Thor.

Thor tried not to smirk.

Loki's eyelids were already dangerously low when Thor climbed into bed beside him.

A docile god of mischief, Thor marveled. Comets aren't half so rare. I had best enjoy it while it lasts.

After so long at war, Loki was content to be coddled, though Thor was careful not to strain it; he wagered he should wait until his brother was well on his way to sleep before he risked blatant sentimentality.

However, it soon became clear that he wouldn't need to wait. Loki was as tangled in memories as Thor was.

Loki propped himself up on an elbow and leaned over to trace Thor's right temple and ear with lazy fingertips.

“Why did we stop saying goodnight with kisses?” Loki asked.

“I don't know,” Thor admitted. “No one ever told us to do it. And I don't remember when it happened, exactly, either. I can't recall the last one you gave me.”

“Nor can I.”

“Then it was an honest mistake,” Thor said, and Loki nodded and leaned down.

Thor could see the mirrored fans of Loki's lashes shadowing green eyes as he looked down over his cheeks to sight Thor's lips before he laid his own over them.

Just a chaste goodnight kiss, like the thousands they shared as boys. Like the hundreds of thousands they missed as men.

Loki's hair spilled down around Thor's cheeks and made a veil for them to wear, shielding their kisses from the walls and wrapping them in perfumed curls. And still their kisses could have been called chaste if they had been isolated. But in succession they were more akin to surveying. They took turns circling each other's mouths with tiny presses of closed lips before they repeated the process with the other features of their faces. Then they worked back to the tempting pink of their lips and spread them wide against each other, licking in with careful strokes and laving the slick skin of tongues and the insides of cheeks.

Thor rolled onto his side and pushed Loki onto his back, straddling his hips and pressing rhythmic kisses down into his waiting mouth. When Loki's hips were rising up against his own, Thor kissed a path down Loki's throat, sucking marks onto the pale skin and biting the meat at the bend of his neck. Loki's fingers were already fluttering at Thor's shoulders, gently urging him down, and Thor didn't make Loki wait long before he descended along Loki's sternum, followed the channel that led to his navel, and brushed his beard over the peaks of Loki's hips.

Loki's cock left little smears of fluid over the skin of Thor's throat until Thor lifted his head, opened his mouth wide, and sank down onto Loki's cock without any warning or teasing.

Loki stared down the planes of his own body and his eyes ate up each second of the slide of Thor's lips along the length of his prick. It did nothing for his self-control, but he found he didn't particularly care.

Thor lapped the head with every pass and Loki had to will his eyes not to roll back in his skull, not wanting to miss a minute of this impossible pleasure.

“I'm nearly there,” Loki warned, and Thor hummed, which hurried him on his way. “Thor,” Loki warned again.

Thor's eyes looked up at him and he gave one sustained blink: permission. And Loki let his hips lift and his seed spill onto Thor's tongue as he panted out breathy moans. He heard Thor swallow and flinched slightly as Thor pulled his lips away.

Loki reached up over his head and fumbled under the pillows for a minute, rooting for the oil he had brought back from the bath.

Thor raised his eyebrows.

“Did you have anything specific in mind for that?” Thor asked.

“Put it on your cock,” Loki said, and his tired prick gave a tiny twitch as he watched Thor comply.

“Anything else?”

“All yours,” Loki said, boneless on the mattress.

Thor rolled him onto his left side and snuggled up behind him. He grabbed the oil and spread it over the soft flesh of Loki's inner thighs before curling his pelvis forward and gripping Loki by the hip.

Thor could feel the curves of Loki's buttocks against his belly, and Loki could feel Thor's abdominal muscles flexing against his ass, kneading the stiff flesh. Thor's breaths were pouring out over the bones of Loki's back and it felt like a bird was flapping its wings behind him.

He thought of Thor's helmet and tried not to laugh.

When Thor was getting close, Loki looked down at his lap. Thor's semen shot out between his thighs and spattered on the sheets in front of him with a patter like rain on leaves. The sight had been a pleasant surprise. Loki had never envisioned it before. He couldn't think why.

Thor fell away onto his back and Loki nudged him over a bit so they'd be able to enjoy the dry half of the bed. He set Thor's left arm up over his head. Then he tucked himself up against his brother's side, threw his leg over a warm thigh, stuffed his face into Thor's armpit, and slept exactly as he had longed to do for the last several centuries.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I can't disable commenting. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have.


End file.
